


October

by serenecj



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, First Time, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-05
Updated: 2008-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenecj/pseuds/serenecj
Summary: ..."It was wrong, and irresponsible, and unnatural, and…so bleeding good. But it never should have happened.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

A/N: Not mine, I don't own anything, you know, all that stuff...and this is UN edited (but hopefully not too horrible) as of yet. Posts will be...chaotic. Whenever I can get to this, I'm working on tons of other things at once, right now. And, I hope you all enjoy. I've taken Harry/Ron back out the box and I hope to have a lovely time playing with them again. Wanna play with?

**October**

The ceiling in Harry’s bedroom has exactly seventeen tiny holes in it. Seventeen. It seems like such a small number, but when trying to count something so minuscule from so far away, it was easy to lose track. It was easy forget whether you’d already counted this dot or that one, but after precisely two hours and nine minutes of counting, getting lost and starting over, Ron found that the ceiling in Harry’s bedroom had exactly seventeen holes in it. And a crack along the bottom left corner. That didn’t count.

Ron couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten there. It didn’t make sense. The walls in Harry’s room didn’t have half as many holes. Seven, to be exact, counting the holes on each of the four walls in Harry’s room combined. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense why there’d be more holes in the ceiling than in the walls.

The holes weren’t exactly interesting in any way…it was just better to think them, than it was to think about what had just happened.

Harry was lying next to him, motionless but for his breathing movements and if Ron hadn’t spent nearly seven years sleeping right next to Harry, he might have believed Harry was asleep. He didn’t though. Harry’s breathing was just uneven enough to let Ron know that he was still wide awake. 

There was tension in the air all around them and though Ron wasn’t exactly touching Harry, he was sure that if he did, he wouldn’t find a single muscle that wasn’t tense. Mostly likely, Ron thought, because Harry knew it was wrong as well.

It _never_ should have happened.

He was married. _Harry_ was married, to Ron’s _sister_ , come to that. Ginny…she was going to kill him. She was going to kill them _both_ if she ever found out. It was wrong, and irresponsible, and unnatural, and…so bleeding good. But it never should have happened.

Ron still couldn’t figure out _how_ it’d happened.

He and Harry were just having a drink, like they always did. The Cannons lost…again, and no matter how many times it happened Ron was never any less pissed about it. He’d groan and pout and Harry would always just laugh, clap a hand on Ron’s shoulder and say, “Next time, mate.” Then they’d go to Harry’s for a bit of firewhiskey. 

The drink. Ron wanted to blame the entire incident on the drinking. But he couldn’t. They never had more than two after a Cannons game, and Ron discovered early on that his alcohol tolerance was nothing to scoff at. Besides, he drank with Harry all the time, and Ron was sure he’d remember if it had ever ended with his cock up Harry’s…

Ron cringed pushing that thought out of his mind. No, it wasn’t the drink. It had to be something else. 

He thought, perhaps, could blame it on the shock of the kiss….or the _first_ kiss. He hadn’t seen it coming, and even though Ron was usually really good with handling the unexpected, this was really out of left field. There was no warning. No odd looks. Harry had simply kissed him. It had come out of nowhere, there was nothing leading up to it. Just…a kiss as Ron was getting ready to leave.

Ron pulled away at first. He jerked back and stared at Harry, looking for some sort of explanation. Harry didn’t offer one. He simply stood there staring back at Ron, with a look in his eye that Ron had seen so many times before. Ron had always assumed there was something on his face, or in his teeth, or on his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Harry had mumbled turning away. “I shouldn’t…I wasn’t ever…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

He looked a right mess, compared to a few seconds before when he was smiling at Ron and handing him the floo powder. He looked miserable. He was biting his lip and his brows were furrowed and really, it wasn’t that bad. The kiss wasn’t that bad at all and if Ron were to be completely honest with himself, he’d admit that it made something in his chest shift, not at all unpleasantly. 

The kiss was shocking, no doubt, but if Ron were being honest, he’d admit that it felt like he’d just gotten something he’d been waiting for, for a very long time.

Unfortunately, he was _not_ being honest with himself. His first instinct was to shout and _demand_ that Harry find a time turner or something of the like and _take. It. Back_. Harry _had_ to take it back, because if he didn’t, Ron might be forced to actually _think_ about it and…he was positive that ‘thinking about it’ would _not_ end well. 

He wanted to yell, curse, and…possibly throw things. The bowl of floo powder really looked like it was in desperate need of being thrown.

But Harry…he looked miserable and he kept running his hand through his hair, before shoving it, helplessly back into his jean pocket. And really, Ron was beginning to worry that if Harry bit his lip any harder, there was going to be quite a bit of blood.

He couldn’t have that. It just wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t let Harry bleed—not after spending long hours in the field trying to prevent just that. He refused to let all that work go to waste. 

There was nothing else for it. 

He walked slowly over to Harry, the sound of his footsteps seeming excruciatingly loud in the silent room. The closer he got to Harry the more obvious it became that Harry was shivering…and the harder it became for Ron to breath. Harry couldn’t have done a better job of avoiding Ron’s eyes if he removed his own and banished them to the other side of the world. 

It was rude, really. It somehow made it seem like Harry was miles away and if Ron wanted to get rid of the feeling that Harry’s distance provoked in him as soon as wizardly possible.

So he kissed him. It was as good an idea as the next.

Harry jumped at first, struggling to get away, but Ron held fast. Harry’s lips were warmer and smoother than Ron ever could have imagined—if he ever thought about that sort of thing. Which, he most certainly didn’t. 

He slipped his tongue out to taste Harry’s lips and the guttural moan that pierced the silence most certainly did _not_ come from Ron.

Except it did. 

Harry sighed against his mouth, finally returning the kiss. His tongue slipped out to meet Ron’s and Ron never thought anything could be so…warm—so hot. It was scalding. 

Harry groaned into Ron’s mouth and the kissed turned sloppy, tongues everywhere at once. The area around Ron’s lips was wet and slippery. It was nothing like the soft, practiced kisses he’d grown used to getting from Hermione and Ron found he liked the change. It was intense. Desperate. 

He threaded his fingers through Harry’s hair, pulling him closer. Harry’s hair was soft and he liked the way it felt between his fingers. Not that this was a new discovery. He’d touched Harry’s hair before, he’d always liked the way it felt. Still, he never knew that Harry’s hair, sliding through his fingers could feel so good _everywhere_ , but it did. And coupled with the feeling of Harry’s lips against his own, the sensations were almost too much for him to handle. He was lost and thoughts of responsibility and duty and all the things that _really_ mattered were long gone. He simply wanted more. More feeling. More heat.

He pulled Harry impossibly tighter against him and ran his hands over Harry’s shoulders and down his back. Even through both sets of clothes, he could feel heat _radiating_ off of Harry’s body. Ron shuddered when he thought of how Harry’s heated skin would feel against his own and he slipped his fingers under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt.

Until that moment, Harry hadn’t touched Ron. He’d participated in the kiss, but his hands hung limply at his sides. However, the feel of Ron’s fingers against his skin seemed to spur him into action. 

He grabbed Ron, near attacking him. He squeezed and touched and _licked_ Ron in places no one else had ever bothered to. Considering that the list of Ron’s prior partners consisted of Hermione alone, it wasn’t surprising.

“Merlin,” Ron whimpered against Harry’s neck. He wasn’t sure when it had started, but he was steadily thrusting his arousal rhythmically against Harry’s hip.

“Room,” Harry whispered and slammed his lips back onto Ron’s, pressing his hands against Ron’s chest. He pushed him roughly towards the bedroom, kissing him the whole way. 

Ron should have stopped it there. He was bigger than Harry, it wouldn’t have been _too_ hard.

But he didn’t stop him. He let Harry continue to push him backwards until his head was slammed painfully against Harry’s bedroom door.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said, hand shooting up to massage his head. He never got the chance. Harry beat him too it.

“Sorry,” Harry said, glaring at the door. He opened it and looked questioningly up at Ron. “Er…”

Ron stared back at him. Harry’s lips were swollen and his face wore a flush Ron hadn’t known Harry was capable of. His hair, oddly enough, didn’t look any different than before Ron had assaulted him and he was biting his lip again. Dangerous, that was. Ron made a mental note to talk to Harry about it later before he kissed him again.

Harry let out a sigh of relief and it didn’t take him near as long to respond this time around. He immediately resumed pushing Ron back into the room, only stopping when the back of Ron’s knees hit the bed, but Harry didn’t push him back onto it. Ron wasn’t sure why. He’d expected it. He wouldn’t have stopped Harry if he did. 

Harry pulled away from Ron, taking a step back and Ron was suddenly far colder than he could handle. He reached out to pull Harry back in, but Harry took another step back. 

Ron frowned, taking a step towards Harry, but Harry simply pushed him back. He took a deep breath, looking up to meet Ron’s eyes. Another deep breath and he removed his shirt. 

There was something wrong with the air in Harry’s house. That had to be what was making it so difficult for Ron to breathe, because it most certainly wasn’t looking at Harry—a bloke—without his shirt on. 

Harry’s chest was smooth and Ron ached to touch it. Just to see if it was as smooth as it looked, of course. Purely research, he did _not_ want to shag his best mate, the snogging and the surprise erection not withstanding.

Harry’s fingers were playing along the top of his trousers and he fingered his belt tentatively. The muscles in his stomach quivered lightly beneath his fingers.

“Can I—,” Harry started, but Ron was nodding before he could finish. He wasn’t completely sure what Harry was going to ask, but he hoped it had something to do with getting rid of the trousers. They were an ugly pair anyway; Harry was much better off without them.

Ron stepped forward again, and this time, Harry didn’t stop him. And when Ron reached out to help Harry get rid of the belt, Harry reached for Ron’s shirt.

Ron couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d wanted to.

He moved in even closer, attacking Harry’s neck as his hands worked furiously at the front of Harry’s trousers. He nipped and bit and licked until Harry had all but given up trying to rid Ron of his own clothes. Ron moved back to do it for him. It was only polite.

Harry actually groaned when Ron’s pants hit the ground.

“Merlin,” Harry whispered moving closer and Ron really hoped the yelp he let out when his cock met Harry’s wasn’t really as loud as it sounded.

Harry reached out, sliding his hand up Ron’s arm and over his should to grab Ron’s neck and pull him closer. Their chest’s touched, before their lips. It was torture and brilliant and any self-control that Ron might have had left, vanished.

Ron’s hands flew to Harry’s hips, _squeezing_ and pulling him in tighter. His knees nearly gave out. 

“Bed,” he whispered. Harry was more than willing. They fell back on to the bed and it wasn’t long before Harry’s tongue was in his mouth again, and really, if Ron had known Harry tasted like this, he might have tried it sooner.

Harry was rutting against him and groaning. He sounded so desperate and he was whimpering and Ron would have done something about it, but he really couldn’t remember how to think anymore. Not with the way Harry’s cock was grinding against his. Not with the Harry’s chest against his own, lit something in him he hadn’t known existed.

Harry’s hand slid down to Ron’s cock and his fingers wrapped around it and Ron broke. He moaned—loudly—thrusting into Harry’s hands. Harry’s fingers were rough, and calloused, but Ron found he didn’t mind a bit. 

“Ron…”

Ron’s only response was a needy grunt. He’d intended to say something coherent, but really, he’d forgotten what words were, let alone, how to use them properly.

“I want…” Harry went on. He gripped Ron’s erection a bit tighter. “I want—I want to feel it…you…”

Ron’s jerked. He really wished he remembered how to use those word things. He had no idea they could have that kind of effect. Or maybe it was just the fact that Harry was speaking. He did have a nice voice.

“Please,” Harry whimpered. “I’m sorry, I just…I’ve wanted…I need...”

Harry really didn’t have to explain. He may not have understood exactly what Harry was going on about, but Ron was certain that, whatever it was, he might need it too.

He took a deep, calming breath, summoning all the strength he could muster and pulled Harry’s hand away from his cock. There was no way he’d be able to think if Harry kept at it.

He took another deep breath before answering. “What’s that, mate?”

Harry didn’t answer. He slid his body against Ron’s, kissing him again and Ron sighed. He rather liked the kissing. He liked it a lot.

He slid off of him, pulling Ron along with him until Ron was atop him. He immediately began grinding up against Ron and Ron was getting lost again. His skin was vibrating and there was a loud buzzing in his ears. 

Harry spread his legs and Ron fell between them, groaning at the increased pressure on his cock. He broke, then, thrusting wildly against Harry, his hands moving to clench in Harry’s hair. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have gotten his attention right then.

“Fuck me, Ron.”

Except that. 

He froze, looking down at Harry. His lips were swollen and his eyes were damn near _black_ , but what caught Ron’s attention, was the fear he could see in those eyes. He couldn’t imagine what Harry had to be afraid of. Well…a few things came to mind but he couldn’t see why Harry’d be afraid of _that_. Why would he ask for something he was afraid of.

Harry swallowed. “You don’t have to. I just. I thought,” he paused, swallowing again. “This. We’ll just do this. I’m sorry.”

Ron shook his head. “Did you…you don’t want me to?”

Harry sighed, reaching up to cup the back of Ron’s head. He pulled Ron down for a brief kiss. “I-I do,” he whispered. “But, this is fine. This is great…I never…”

“I want to.”

Harry began thrusting again, still holding Ron’s gaze. “Do it,” he whispered. “Please. I…I need…Do it.”

So Ron did.

It’d taken him awhile to figure out what exactly he was doing. His list of partners was decidedly short, and he wasn’t too proud to admit he didn’t have a clue as to what he was doing. He did eventually work out what went where and how, exactly to make certain bits fit, but he was sure that a few of the grunts Harry let out were of pain, not pleasure. At one point, Harry had nearly screamed in pain, but he never let Ron stop. He talked Ron through it, and Ron eventually got the hang of it. It wasn’t long before Harry began moaning and writhing against him intermittently crying out ‘please’ or ‘touch me’ or, Ron’s favorite, ‘bloody hell, faster’.

It was brilliant, being inside Harry. Ron could feel it _everywhere_ and he didn’t want it to end any time soon.

But it did. He came embarrassingly quick, but Harry didn’t seemed to mind it when Ron finished him off with his hand and when Harry came…it was like nothing Ron had ever seen before. His back arched in a way that Ron was sure couldn’t be pleasant, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He cried out, or _started_ to cry out. He choked on the last bit of his moan as his body tensed. It was brilliant.

He kept his eyes on Harry as he came down from his high, and was shocked when Harry opened his eyes to look at him. 

Really, it was amazing how quickly the awkwardness had set in. Tension filled the air, and Ron was sure Harry would be fidgeting if he weren’t so spent. It was quiet—too quiet—and Ron felt he should say something. He opened his mouth a few times but nothing came out and he really couldn’t hold Harry’s gaze much longer. He looked passed him, only to find a picture on the nightstand next to Harry’s bed.

A picture of him, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny, laughing on the sofa at the Burrow. He stomach lurched and he couldn’t look at it, and looking at Harry was not an option. Both would require him to actually think about what he’d just done. To his wife. To his sister. To _Harry_. And he just couldn’t…he absolutely _refused_ to think about it.

So he rolled away. He rolled away and busied himself with counting the holes in the walls. Eight. Then the ceiling. Seventeen. 

He glanced over at the clock. It was just half three in the morning. Hermione was going to kill him. The thought was almost comforting. At least then, he’d never have to face her finding out. He wouldn’t have to face anyone.

It could never happen again, no matter how much he may have liked it. He didn’t look forward to having that conversation with Harry. He wasn’t even sure he _could_ have that conversation. 

He’d really fucked himself over royally. If ever there was a choice Ron _did **not**_ want to make, it was the choice between Harry and Hermione. His best mate and his wife. The choice should have been obvious—Hermione—but it really wasn’t that simple. He loved Hermione, he really did. She was…

Hermione—she was everything he’d ever wanted.

Harry stopped breathing next to him, and he realized he spoken aloud.

Bugger. 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He couldn’t look at Harry, he’d have to… _say things_ and…he just couldn’t. It was one night, it’s not like it meant anything to Harry. They could just pretend it never happened. They could blame it on the drink, or the shock, or…the bleeding floo powder chemicals. Anything, Ron didn’t really care. He just wasn’t going to…he couldn’t. 

He sat up, scanning the room for his trousers. He could feel Harry moving to sit up behind him, but he didn’t turn.

“I promised Hermione I’d go with her to some muggle thing or other early tomorrow. If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll never wake up in the morning.”

“Right,” Harry said, his voice strained. “Ginny’s going to be back early tomorrow; she said something about before she left. But—,”

“Right,” Ron interrupted. Getting his clothes back on seemed to be taken a hell of a lot longer than it had taken to get them off. “I’ll, er…I’ll see you tomorrow. Ministry. Case.” Sentences weren’t exactly as easy to form as he’d once thought they were.

“Ron…”

“Have you seen my wand?” He had his trousers and his shirt on. The rest really didn’t matter. Hermione knew he was with Harry. She wouldn’t even ask where his jumper, or shoes were. She’d never assume…

He cringed.

“It’s in the kitchen,” Harry said, his voice sounding hollow. “Are we going to talk?”

“Kitchen,” Ron replied. “Right. I’ll, er, see you, mate. Tomorrow.” Ron walked out of the room.

“Ron, wait,” Harry said, wrapping a sheet around his waste, following Ron to the kitchen. “We should talk. I think…”

“No,” Ron said, entering the kitchen. “I’ll see you. At work. We’ll continue working on the Selwynn case and we’ll forget all about this, all right?”

Harry didn’t answer. 

Ron really couldn’t think. He needed to get home. He needed to get some sleep. He needed to…

He needed to never see the surprised, hurt look Harry wore on his face ever again.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, mate,” he said. “I…I need sleep. I need…to see you at work tomorrow. It…look, it never—it was a mistake. We should just forget—,”

“Right,” Harry interrupted. The hurt look had been replaced by an even more disturbing blank one. “Go.” Harry turned, walking back to his bedroom. Ron heard the door slam.

“Bugger.” Ron closed his eyes and Disapparated.

 

_”I’m sorry…I’m sorry.”_

 

A/N: Lyrics throughout this, by Evanesence from the song "October". I'm not sure if this qualifies as a songfic, but I was listening to the song when I started it and the "I'm sorry" kind of slipped and fell on the page...and it keeps happening, little snippets here and there. Let me know what you think, kay?


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